Fish, Hanging
by Vashagud
Summary: Because survival can sometimes mean dying. Cloud/Zack.


Cloud doesn't sleep on his back. Zack knows it because, Cloud doesn't do anything now but nod to his own heartbeat's deep rocking, Cloud nods sleepily, emptyeyed, over onto his back but then springs right onto his side, left or right, left then right, saying nothing.

The mako addiction has gotten really bad.

In the quiet, Zack does squats, and his thigh muscles feel like they're tearing apart, bleeding in warm rushes each time his knees bend. He does sloppy, trembling push ups and looks to where Cloud is laying open eyed like a fish, hanging dead on the line.

A cold splash on his face doesn't help, and he reflection looks back at him, leans its head against the mirror glass, counter bathroom spinning around it as it says-_let me out goddamnit, goddamnit let me out_.

'I can't.' He says, laughing at himself, even as his reflection does not, does not even look like him.

"Hey, Spike. Remember to do your squats, because if you don't you'll be shit at it like me. I-feel like we've been out for years or something."

He is vaguely aware of the journey they're making, of the destruction he can wreak even when they have guns and numbers. He can feel flesh and bone splitting under the steel his keeps on his back and the steel in his arms, legs and heart, because he _won't be stopped _but he can almost swear he's watching himself too.

He feels like he is powerless, no matter how many fall under his hand. Like he's just being dragged around, worn down.

On night he lays his head down, with Cloud just in his sights. It's strange they way they are always together, but there are times when he forgets Cloud is there, the cruel meaningless twitch in his fingers and mouth, the nodding, and turning in his sleep. But sleep is the wrong word, because he is wide awake, watching with blue fish eyes, and Zack turns his back at night now, forgets the kid for a few patchy hours of sleep.

He forgets the blonde downy hair at the temples, the freckles on his fine boned cheek, and he dreams of this dark haired girl he thinks he knows, he is _sure _he knows. But when he wakes up, he knows something isn't right, because there's a girl he supposed to find who-

"Has a church full of flowers."

and who he loves and-

"didn't spend enough time with her, and I just wish I-"

There is a lot of talking in his sleep, but not the kind he wants because when he wakes up he is alone again, and looking at his reflection, who has begun to morph into this lone, quiet thing in the mirror, and he doesn't know which one of them is stuck.

The glass fogs up as he attempts a few squats, and he springs toward it to wipe the fog away, but it won't go, and he can only hear breathing, see two blue eyes, unblinking, and so familiar. _You'll never let me out. _

He stares into his eyes and says-_I'm sorry._

He closes the door and screams, and when he wakes up he is on side. Cloud is still, and hasn't made a sound.

"I think I'm going crazy Spike. Really." And in the morning, he drags them clear out of _Nibelhelm,_ which rolls so natural on his country tongue, to find _Aerith_, which feels strangely alien in his mouth, feels kind of wrong until he reminds himself that he hasn't said it in a while.

He no longer looks in the mirror, but instead he fights, and sleeps, fights until he sleeps.

And when he sleeps, he sees Sephiroth against the backdrop of burning mountains, and odin, the flames had been just latent heat in the man's fingers days before that, when he laid him down on his back, pulled his legs up high, and started talking to voices only he could hear in between the hungry, quiet groans.

He wakes up on his back, and quickly shifts to his side, but even on his side, he feels a bed of silver hair around him. He's not sure what it means, and he sits up and tries to forget, even though he has the feeling he has already forgotten something very important.

They are riding in a truck.

He feels...strange. Like he's more awake then he has been in while.

"We're friends, right?"

The world opens wide and bright in that moment, and he waits for an answer. He somehow knows the answer is yes, and almost feels the answer to his own question bubbling up in throat. He wants to answer so badly, but knows he won't be heard. He has been having a conversation with himself for too long.

He can even see himself waiting, blue purple eyes still in anticipation. The greenery and road going by, the truck is yellow. He can see it all.

"We're friends, right?"

He wants to say yes.

But he can't, and the world is shifting even clearer now, and it's almost exactly like the moment he walked away from his reflection the way he moves away now, reaching for himself.

He's screaming, no come back, come back. But it doens't make a sound. He wonders it if ever has, and he's reaching, losing something so dear he knows it should hurt.

He is going to die, and he knows it.

And then it's raining. There is a salt ocean around him, made of rain and blood. He is breathing, finally, wriggling on the hook and choking, crawling through the mud which is streaked with a deep liquid red. He is fully awake in a way that is too textured and uncomfortable to be right.

He is looking down on a man he knows, and how he knows him is only something he feels inside him, in the strength in the man's arms and hand when he clasps him to his chest.

His heartbeat is stayed, muffling itself under all the damage, and he knows it can't be undone.

But he is totally undone, he is vaguely aware of this, and only when this man talks of dreams does he start to thread it all back together, and it might be bad patchwork, but he knows these dreams are his purpose. They are his purpose, even though something is screaming at him, saying this is not a dream he needs to fall into, that he just needs to stay awake long enough to see that-

No. He takes the sword, and it feels right. He is not that fish, choking on air. He has fallen back, and he is alive. He is completely submerged and yes, he remembers, no, he _knows. _He knows he has dreamt too long, and now he his going to live. He knows it, even as this man dies, and something of himself is dying right along with him.

When Cloud stands up on his new land legs, he feels like he never has.

Author's Note: So, I really wanted to write about the forming/beginnings of Cloud's confusion, and I knew I'd have to confuse the voice a little, which kinda confused me at times. So to be perfectly honest, I'm not sure if I hit it, or was just wildly unsuccessful. XD Either way, Cloud's head is always good for a persistent plot bunny.


End file.
